


today is a fairytale

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Modern Sansa/Margaery fairytale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	today is a fairytale

Sansa had been trapped in the tower for a hundred days when even her infamous sense of hope and optimism threatened to leave her completely. For more than three months, she had been a prisoner of Joffrey the Sadistic (The Falseborn, the Abomination), spared his detestable attentions as he was away warring with his supposed uncle, Duke Stannis of Dragonstone. Sansa been taken to punish her father, the Northern king who supported Stannis’ claim that Joffrey was born of sorcery and wickedness, not King Robert’s seed. Joffrey had locked her away and left her guarded by a fearsome beast, half-man, half-dog, ominously known only as the Hound.

It was on the one-hundredth day that Sansa was startled from staring longing out the solitary window to see a pair of slender, pale hands that appeared, grasping the edge of the stone arch. Sansa could only blink owlishly as a feminine face appeared a moment later, breathtakingly beautiful even with her lips pursed in a concentrated frown as she levered herself up and into the room.

The mysterious woman began dusting off her clothing, a fine-looking set of riding leathers and a rich velvet cloak, verdant green in color. Her honey-brown hair had a soft, wispy curl, pulled back into a loose plait she tossed over her shoulder as she turned large brown eyes toward Sansa, alight with curiosity and warmth. “Pardon my uncouth entrance, Princess, but time is pressing. I am Dame Margaery of Highgarden and I’m here to take you home.”

Sansa had grown so used to betrayal, to cruelty and greed, that she found her feet leading her to back away several steps before she had given it conscious thought. Her eyes immediately whipped back to her strange visitor, fearful of causing offense to what must be an armed stranger if she carried a knight’s title. Dame Margaery only smiled softly, slipping a hand into the pouch hanging from her belt and pulled out an iron coin, holding it up to show Sansa the direwolf stamped into the metal.

Sansa knew this coin, marked with the King of Winter’s seal of authority. Wolf coins were only given to knights tasked with missions of utmost importance. Sansa had only seen them once before in her life, when Bran had suffered that terrible fall and hadn’t wakened for weeks. Father had sent his men to fetch the best healers in the land. Bran had awoken quieter and more solemn, but whole and hale all the same.

The sweetest sort of relief spread to every inch of her being, the power and weight of the feeling so overwhelming she felt the telltale prick of tears, ones she blinked away as Dame Margaery swept her cloak from her shoulders and gallantly wrapped it around her. Sansa had to pointedly remind herself that now was not the time to swoon, no matter what the old songs and tales told her.

“We must make haste, Princess.”

“Of course.” She tucked her hand into the one Dame Margaery offered her, distracted by the kind smile the lady knight flashed her as they shuffled through the door and stole down the corridor. They both froze when the heavy, booted footfalls echoed against the stone. Panic filled Sansa as she realized she had forgotten all about her guard in the excitement of Dame Margaery’s appearance. She clutched hard at the other woman with a fearful hiss, not for herself, but for her rescuer. “The Hound!”

Dame Margaery squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You’ve no need to worry, Princess. I promise.” Her voice dropped an octave with the last two words, and the husky whisper against her ear elicited a shiver down her spine and still managed to reassure her at the same time.

The Hound rounded the corner, draped in his habitual heavy dark cloak, cowl drawn over his face. She could tell by the twist of his mouth that he was scowling and a gloved hand tightened around the hilt of his sheathed sword. Her heart in her throat, she recklessly threw herself in front of Dame Margaery, holding her hands up placatingly. “Wait, Sandor, please don’t hurt her!”

Sandor, as she had come to know him, was a reluctant jailer, and over time she had come to realize that he would do her no harm (not when her song calmed his anguished howls at night, only keep her keep her in the tower as his master had bid him to do. He heaved a heavy sigh, his voice gravelly as ever as he spoke. “I’ll only hurt her if she means you harm, little bird.”

“She doesn’t, Sandor, I promise. She’s here to take me home, she even has my father’s mark of favor with her! Please let us go, Sandor. I know you don’t truly want to keep me here.”

Dame Margaery rested a hand on her shoulder. When Sansa turned her head to face her, she found the knight carefully studying Sandor. Sansa frowned with confusion, looking between them with bewilderment. Margaery pursed her lips, then finally softly began, “Joffrey the Pretender is dead, slain in battle a fortnight passed. Your curse is broken, Sandor Clegane. It died with its caster, or have you forgotten?”

Sandor gave another rough, growly sigh, drawing back his cowl to scowl at the woman. Sansa gasped as Sandor revealed his face: his very human face, scarred as it may be. “San-sandor, you’re…”

“Human? Aye, little bird. Twas’ a curse cast by that cruel little bastard, to make me into a monster. The girl’s right, the curse died with him.” He rubbed a hand over his scarred face. “If you want to leave now, little bird, I won’t stop you. I just want you safe.”

Sansa smiled gently. “I will be, Sandor. Thank you for looking after me.”

Dame Margaery stirred from where she had been watching them thoughtfully, taking another pouch from her belt and tossing it toward Sandor. The clink of coin was audible in the air as Sandor caught it, squinting at Dame Margaery with suspicious puzzlement. “What’s this, then?”

“It’s not too late to start things anew, Clegane. King Eddard wanted those who protect his daughter rewarded, you should put it to use.”

Sandor grumbled under his breath, but tucked the coinpurse away, turning back to give Sansa one last soft look. “Take care, little bird. Protect her, girl, or you’ll hear from me again.” He moved aside to let them pass and Sansa gently touched his scarred cheek, earning the closest he would ever come to a smile in her presence.

“Goodbye, Sandor.”

+++

They rode the afternoon through on the back of Dame Margaery’s milk-white mare, coming to a stop when the first hints of the dusk colored the sky. “There’s a hunting cabin in the next clearing,” Dame Margaery informed Sansa, “It’s clean and well-kept, Princess. It should suffice for the night.” The knight gave Sansa a quick glance with a hint of uncertainty to her expression, the first time Sansa had seen the dame’s self-assured persona. She smiled reassuringly and as her arms were still wrapped around Dame Margaery’s waist, gave her a light squeeze in approval. “I’m sure it will suffice just fine. Thank you, Dame Margaery.”

Dame Margaery was correct about the cabin; it was small and rustic, but clean and well-kept as she said. It took them some time to get settled, laying blankets on the pallets, starting a fire in the hearth, bringing in the saddlebags and tending to the horse. Dame Margaery had more than enough provisions packed away to provide for their evening meal, so there was still time remaining before the sun sunk below the horizon.

“If it pleases you, Princess, you could just call me Margaery.”

Sansa felt her face heat as she softly whispered the name with a shy nod. _Margaery_ asked if she would like to accompany her to fetch water and Sansa gladly accepted, the two of them walking to the river arm-in-arm.  
  
Sansa gasped with delighted surprise as the trees thinned out to reveal the wide mouth of the river, being fed by a tall waterfall. The tumbling water caught the amber rays of the setting sun, causing a distinct glimmer that beautifully resembled the glistening of diamonds. The sight took her breath away.

“Oh, Margaery, it’s beautiful.”

The smile Margaery regarded her with was gentle and warm. “It’s your beauty that’s legendary throughout the land, Princess. I imagined meeting you quite differently- perhaps at a ball, where I could ask you to dance.”

Feeling shy but also impossibly brave, Sansa reached out to take Margaery’s hand. “We don’t necessarily need a ball to do so. Dame Margaery of Highgarden, will you do me the honor?”

Margaery drew her close and they began to gently sway, bathed in the golden glow of the sunset.

+++

“Sansa. Sansa, darling, it’s time to wake up.”

Sansa Stark’s eyes drowsily fluttered open, her mind taking a moment to adjust as she took in her surroundings. She was in the passenger seat of Margaery’s white Cadillac, the other woman leaning over her with a concerned furrow to her brow. The scent of roses tickled her nose, coming from the collar of the green suede jacket Margaery had wrapped around her when she came to pick her up.

Pick her up…the events of that evening slammed back into Sansa’s mind and her eyes closed painfully, breathing out an unsteady breath. A warm hand cupped her chin in response, gentle fingers caressing her cheek. “Put him out of your mind, sweetheart. He’s so not worth your time, not even a single thought from that gorgeous mind of yours. Now c’mon. I called ahead and booked us a room. I need sleep if we’re going to get to Winterfell by tomorrow night.”

Sansa tucked her hand into Margaery’s and allowed herself to be led from the car, to the hotel office, and up to their room, grateful not for the first time that day for Margaery Tyrell. And wishing, also not for the first time, that she had met the other girl before Joffrey’s poison had entered her life. But she had completely left Joffrey behind this time, and the space between her and Margaery was filled with more possibility than ever before.

She settled on the edge of the bed and Margaery sat beside her, gently caressing her cheek once more, lips pursed with anger as she studied the light bruise resting there. “I swear to the Seven, I’m going to ruin that spineless bastard. I’m so proud of you for calling me, San. I hope you know that.”

Sansa did know that, the pride, empathy and sheer love radiated from Margaery’s every gesture and expression. She hesitated, biting her lip nervously as she looked up at other woman life, and made her decision, tentatively pressing her lips to Margaery’s

Margaery immediately tensed at the contact. For a long, drawn-out moment, she was as still as stone against her and Sansa held her breath as she waited for a reaction. Margaery continued to remain frozen and Sansa’s heart sank with disappointment, ready to pull away when Margaery came to life beneath her. The firm line to her mouth softened, growing pliant and warmly responsive. Sansa twined her arms around the brunette’s neck as the kiss deepened into something more heated, more fervent, and she sighed with contentment.

Perhaps white knights weren’t completely a fairytale after all.


End file.
